A Plucky Girl Part 26

"Don't worry mother, please, Mrs. Fanning; I will certainly come with you for an hour or so."

"We won't be back in an hour, dear," said Mrs. Fanning, "nor for two hours; we are going to enjoy ourselves with a tea out. You'll spare your daughter until she comes back, won't you, madam? I mean you won't fret about her."

I was just about absolutely to refuse, when Miss Mullins came into the room. To my astonishment and disgust she came straight over to where we were talking, and immediately took Mrs. Fanning's part.

"Oh yes," she said, "you must not disappoint dear Mrs. Fanning, Westenra; she was so looking forward to having a time out with you. Go with her. As to your mother, I will look after her. I have nothing at all to do this afternoon, and mean to go and sit with her in the drawing-room, or rather to bring her into my private room, where we will have a cosy tea to ourselves."

There was no help for it. After Jane's treachery in siding with Mrs.

Fanning, I could only have refused by making a fuss, which would have been extremely bad for mother, so I went upstairs and spent a little time considering in which of my hats I looked worst, and which of my jackets presented the most dowdy appearance. Alack and alas! I had no dowdy jackets and no unbecoming hats. I put on, however, the quietest I could find, and ran downstairs. Mrs. Fanning was waiting for me in the hall. One of the servants of the establishment was standing near with a heavy fur rug over her arm. Mrs. Fanning was attired in a huge sealskin cape, which went down below her knees, and a bonnet with a large bird of paradise perched on one side of the brim. She had a veil, with huge spots on it, covering her broad face, and she was drawing on a pair of gloves a great deal too small for her fat hands.

"Here you are, Miss Wickham," she said; "now, then, we'll go. Open the door, please, Emma."

Emma did so, and we entered the carriage.

"Spread the rug, Emma," said Mrs. Fanning in a lordly tone. This was also accomplished, and the next moment we were whirling away. Mrs.

Fanning laid her fat hand on my lap.

"Now, this is pleasant," she said; "I have been looking forward to this. Do you know where I am going to take you?"

"I am sure I cannot tell," I answered; "but as we are out, I hope you will let me look at the shops; I want to tell mother something about the latest fas.h.i.+ons; it often entertains her."

"Well, I am glad to hear you speak in that strain, it sounds so human and womanly. Your tastes and mine coincide to a nicety. There's no one loves shop-gazing better than I do; I have flattened my nose against shop windows times and again, as long as I can remember. Before my dear Albert became so wealthy, I used to get into my bus, and do my hour of shop-gazing a-most every afternoon, but now it fidgets the coachman if I ask him to pull up the horses too often. You like the swing of the carriage, don't you, my dear? It's very comfortable, isn't it? nearly as nice as if it had the yellow wheels that Albert would not gratify his old mother by allowing. Ah, SHE has a deal to answer for--a deal to answer for--however nice she may be in herself."

Here Mrs. Fanning favoured me with one of her broadest winks.

"The carriage is very nice," I replied.

"I fancied somehow that it would suit you, and I was most anxious to see how you looked in it. Some people don't look as if they were born to a carriage, others take to it like a duck takes to the water. Now, you look very nice in it; you and your mother in this carriage would look as genteel as two ladies could look. You don't know what a great admiration I have for your mother. She is one of the most beautiful women on G.o.d's earth."

"And one of the best," I said impulsively, and as I thought of all that was going to happen to that most precious mother, and how soon that presence would be withdrawn from our mortal gaze, and how soon that spirit would go to the G.o.d who gave it, tears sprang to my eyes, and even Mrs. Fanning became more tolerable.

"Ah, you are feeling cut to bits about her great delicacy," said that good lady. "Any one can see that; but cheer up, cheer up, the young ought to rejoice, and you of all women under the sun have the most cause for rejoicement, Miss Wickham."

I did not ask her why, I did not dare, we drove on. It seemed to me that we were not going anywhere near the shops, we were steadily pursuing our way into the suburbs. After a drive of over an hour, we suddenly found ourselves in a part of Highgate quite unknown to me. We had been going uphill for some time, and we stopped now before some iron gates; a woman ran out of a lodge and opened the gates, and then we drove down a short avenue shaded by some fine trees. We drew up in front of a large, substantial red-brick house, the door of which was open, and on the steps stood Mr. Fanning. He ran down to meet us, with both his hands extended.

"Ah! and you have brought the little thing," he said to his mother.

"What little thing?" I said to myself. This was really the final straw. I had never, never even by my most intimate friends, been spoken of as the "little thing," for I was a tall girl and somewhat large in my ideas, and if anything rather masculine in my mind, and to be spoken of as a little thing, and by Albert Fanning, was about the final straw which broke the camel's back. My first intention was to refuse to budge from the carriage, to fiercely demand that the coachman should turn round and drive me straight back again to mother, but on second thoughts, I reflected that I should lose a good deal of dignity by this proceeding, and the best possible plan was to appear as if nothing at all extraordinary had occurred, and to follow Mrs.

Fanning into the house.

"Yes, I have brought her," said that good woman; "here she is. She looks slim beside your old mother, eh! Albert? but she's young; as time goes on she'll spread like all the rest of us. Well, and here we are, and she likes the brougham extremely; don't you, my dear? I could see that if you had yielded to me with regard to the yellow wheels she would not have approved. We must all humour her while she is young; it is always the way, always the way, ain't it, Albert? And I never saw a girl look nicer in a brougham than she does. She did enjoy her drive; it was lovely to see her. Well, now, she'll enjoy still more what's before her--the house and the grounds. It's a bit of a surprise we have for you, my dear," continued the old lady, turning to me. "It is not every girl would have the luck to be brought here by _his_ mother; but everything that can be made easy and pleasant for you, Miss Wickham, shall be made easy and pleasant. It was Albert's wish that you should come here with me, and he said you would much rather it was not bragged about at the boarding-house beforehand. This is my son Albert's new house, furnished according to his own taste, which is excellent, nothing showy nor gimcrack, all firm and good, bought at Maple's, dear, in Tottenham Court Road, and the very best the establishment could furnish. Everything new, s.h.i.+ning, and _paid_ for, dear, paid for. You can see the bills, not a debt to hang over your head by-and-by, love. But come in, come in."

I really felt that I could not stand much longer on the steps of the mansion, listening to this most extraordinary address made to me by Mrs. Fanning. What did it matter to me whether Albert Fanning paid for his household goods or not? and how could it concern me what shop he chose to buy them at? But I felt myself more or less in a trap, and knew the best way to prevent any crisis taking place was to put on an a.s.sumed air of absolute indifference, and to take the first possible opportunity of returning home.

"Jane must get the Fannings to leave to-morrow, whatever happens," I said to myself, "and I must cling now to Mrs. Fanning for dear life. I don't suppose Albert Fanning will propose for me while she is by." But alas! I little knew the couple with whom I had to deal. Albert Fanning had willed that I was not to cling close to his mother. Turning to the old lady, he said--

"You're f.a.gged and fl.u.s.tered. You have done things uncommonly well, and now you'll just have the goodness to sit with your feet on the fender in the drawing-room, and give yourself a right good toasting while Miss Wickham and I are examining the house."

"Oh no," I began.

"Oh yes," said Mrs. Fanning; "don't be shy, love." She gave me another wink so broad that I did not dare to expostulate further. Had I done so, Albert would probably have gone on his knees on the spot and implored of me there and then to make him the happiest of men.

Accordingly we all entered the drawing-room which was furnished _a la_ Maple. It was a large room, and there were a great many tables about, and I wondered how stout Mrs. Fanning could cross the room without knocking over one or two. She looked round her with admiration.

"It's amazing the taste you have," she said, gazing at her son as if he were a sort of demiG.o.d. He put her into a comfortable chair by the fire, and then he and I began to do the house. Was there ever such a dreadful business? We began at the attics, and we thoroughly explored room after room. I did not mind that. As long as I could keep Albert Fanning off dangerous ground I was quite ready to talk to him. I was ready to poke at the mattresses on the new beds, and to admire the chain springs, and to examine the ventilators in the walls of every single room. I said "Yes" to all his remarks, and he evidently thought he was making a most favourable impression. We took a long time going over the house, but I did not mind that, for Mr. Fanning was in his element, and was so pleased with his own consummate common sense and his own skill in getting the right things into the right corners, and in showing me what a mind he had for contriving and for making money go as far as possible, that I allowed him to talk to his heart's content. The brougham must soon be ordered again, and we must get back to town, and the awful time would be at an end. But when at last even the kitchens had been inspected, and the action of the new range explained to me, Albert said that he must now show me the grounds.

There was no escaping this infliction, and accordingly into the grounds we went.

These were fairly s.p.a.cious. There was a large fruit garden, and a kitchen garden behind it, and Albert Fanning told me exactly what he was going to plant in the kitchen garden in the spring--a certain bed in particular was to be devoted to spring onions. He told me that he hated salad without a good dash of onion in it, and as he spoke he looked at me as much as to say, "Don't you ever give me salad without onion," and I began to feel the queerest sensation, as if I was being mastered, creeping over me. I wondered if the man really intended to take me from the garden to the church, where the priest would be waiting to perform the ceremony which would tie us together for life.

The whole proceeding was most extraordinary, but just at the crucial moment, just when I was feeling that I could bear things no longer, I heard Mrs. Fanning's cheery voice. How I loved the old lady at that moment!

"Albert! Albert!" she called out, "the tea is cooling. I don't approve of tea being drawn too long, and it has been in the teapot for ten minutes. Come in this minute, you naughty young folks, come in and enjoy your tea."

"I am coming," I answered, "I am very hungry and thirsty."

"Are you?" said Mr. Fanning, looking at me. "Coming, mother, coming."

I turned to run after the old lady, but he suddenly put out his hand and caught one of mine, I pulled it away from him.

"Don't," I said.

"Don't!" he replied; "but I certainly shall. I mean often to touch you in the future, so what does it matter my taking your hand now. I hope to have you near me all day long and every day in the future. You must have guessed why I brought you out here."

"I have guessed nothing, except that I am thirsty and want my tea," I replied. "I cannot talk to you any longer."

"Oh yes, you can," he replied, "and you don't stir from here until I have had my say. You thought to escape me that time in the drawing-room a few weeks back, but you won't now. Don't be angry; don't look so frightened. I mean well, I mean--I cannot tell you what I _quite_ mean when I look at you, but there, you like the house?"

"Yes," I said, "very well."

"Very well indeed; let me tell you, Miss Wickham, there isn't a more comfortable house nor a better furnished house, nor a better paid-for house in the length and breadth of the county. And you like these gardens, eh?"

"Certainly," I said.

"I thought so. Well, now, the fruit garden, and the kitchen garden, and the pleasure garden, and the house, and the furniture, and the master of the house are all at your disposal. There! I have spoken.

You are the one I am wis.h.i.+ng to wed; you are the one I intend to wed.

I am wanting you, and I mean to have you for better, for worse. I have not the slightest doubt that you have faults, but I am willing to run the risk of finding them out; and I have no doubt that I have faults too, but I do not think that they are too prominent, and, at any rate, I am a real, downright son of Britain, an honest, good-hearted, well-meaning man. I believe in the roast beef of Old England and the beer of Old England, and the ways of Old England, and I want an English girl like yourself to be my wife, and I will treat you well, my dear, and love you well--yes, I will love you right well."

Here his voice broke, and a pathetic look came into his eyes, and I turned away more embarra.s.sed, and more distressed than ever I was in my life.

"You will have all that heart can desire, little girl, and your poor, delicate mother, shall come and live with you in this house; and she and my mother can have a sitting-room between them. We shall be a happy quartette, and you shall come to me as soon as ever you like, the sooner the better. Now you need not give me your answer yet. We know, of course, what it will be; it is a great chance for you, and I am not denying it, but come and enjoy your tea."

"But I must and will give you my answer now," I replied. "How can you for a single moment imagine that I can seriously consider your offer?

It is kind of you; yes, it is kind of any man to give his whole heart to a girl; and, I believe, you are sincere, but I can only give you one answer, Mr. Fanning."

"And that?" he said.

"It is quite--quite absolutely impossible! I could never love you; I could never, never marry you. I am sorry, of course, but I have nothing--nothing more to say."

"You mean," said Albert Fanning, turning pale, and a queer, half angry, half wild look coming and going on his face, "that you _refuse_ me--me, and my house, and my brougham, and my gardens, and my paid-for furniture! Is it true?"

"I refuse you, and all that you want to confer upon me," I answered.